


Like Fungus

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Banter, Cassarric - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I'm sure there will be smut eventually, One Shot, Oral Sex, Sex, kickass women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: One shots about Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras and their inevitable spark. Definitely angst,  probably some fluff, certainly eventual smut.





	1. All sorts of lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon prompt on tumblr for: “There will never be anyone else like you…if I’m very lucky.”

It took less than half an hour to get separated from the others. Varric had warned them, or well, maybe it was more of a complaint, but he had said it was bound to happen. Ghilan'nain’s Grove was a twisting mess of murky swampland with scores of ankle-wrenching spots concealed by thick mist. In the deepest areas, the water rose up waist high on The Seeker. For Varric, it meant cold, pungent water lapped against his chest. 

“Shit,” he said. “Where in the Void did Sparkler and her Inquisitorialness get off to now?"

The Seeker, always the most helpful person in times of stress, scoffed. As if he wasn’t pissed about being stuck with her too. “If we knew, then we would not be lost from them.”

Varric trudged through the water with Bianca held above his head. There was a moss-covered rock protruding out of the muck with his name on it. “Nothing gets past you, Seeker.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m pretty sure if I tried to explain, it’d just go over your head.”

The Seeker strode past, causing a flood of water to surge up his neck in her wake. She scaled up his rock, then a few others in order to reach the top of an outcropping that resembled one of Ruffle’s tapered candles. As she surveyed the grove for the rest of their party, Varric placed Bianca down gently on the base of the rock figure and heaved himself up, slime coating his fingers.

Of course he was lost in the middle of a fucking putrid swamp with the Seeker for company. Despite being hauled here against his will a few months ago, the two of them had been getting along decently enough, working together to get the then-Herald settled so they could close the Maker-forsaken hole in the sky. It’d been almost idyllic even, some shit he’d put in the beginning of a novel before the truly terrible will-testing, spine-breaking stuff happened to the hero. Then Hawke showed up, at his own damn request, and the Seeker went off the deep end. The crazy woman acted like he’d broken a promise or something equally ludicrous. Since when did prisoners give jailers their full and unbound trust?

A cascade of rocks and dust fell on Varric, reminding him painfully of Kirkwall in the way that the most unpleasant of memories creep up on you. The Seeker slid down the rock in her bucket of metal as easily as a ram down a mountainside. She landed beside Varric, kicking up dust with her feet. A few more rocks plopped into the water, sinking to the bottom and stirring up a cloud of mud.

“I could not see them,” she reported. “I believe the best we can do is head towards camp and hope they do the same.”

“Yeah, and which way is that?” 

She pivoted, uncertain. There wasn’t much time to contemplate, as the still water beneath them began to ripple, little waves slapping against Varric’s perch. It was too cloudy to tell what stirred beneath, but Varric had a pretty fucking good guess. 

“Seeker,” he urged.  

“I’m trying to remember, Varric,” she snapped. 

“Well do you remember disturbing a wyvern nest in your flight of fancy a second ago? Because I think you’ve pissed one scaly, ugly homeowner off.”

She leaned forward, above him, looking at the water. “That can’t be–”

A snapping beast flew out of the water and onto Varric’s lap. He had the presence of mind to kick out a foot as it surged forward, and the impact on its snout jarred the creature for a moment. Bianca flew backwards into the swamp as the wyvern scrabbled to remain on the shelf of the rock. It used Varric’s thigh to anchor its place.

“Maker’s hairy nutsack!” Varric swore. “Fuck, Seeker – think you could help?”

She cast the wyvern off with a bash of her shield then jumped in after it, shouting and taunting. It kept the creature away from Varric. He’d be grateful if it wasn’t for the souvenir claw in his leg. Though he had to hand it to her, the Seeker was effective in a fight. The wyvern and the woman circled one another, each taunting in their own right. The wyvern would snap and the Seeker would hit her shield with the end of her sword. She was a natural predator. Soon the creature grew tired of waiting for her to turn backside and flee, and lept towards a soft throat. The Seeker spun out of the way, fast, flanking the beast without breaking a sweat. She drove her sword up along the wyvern’s spine, sinking into the base of its skull. How she parted the thick hide like butter… Varric shuttered at the thought. She’d be able to absolutely decimate him in a real fight. 

The creature cried up, its shriek echoing around the rock towers of the grove. The Seeker pulled her sword free and pierced its side. The wyvern collapsed abruptly. Water splashed back into her grim face, and the Seeker wiped it away with the back of a hand. Only then did she turn to check on Varric. 

“Your leg,” she cried. “Are you okay?” She crept closer, sliding her sword back in its sheath. Her face was revealing in a way that made Varric suddenly uncomfortable. As if all her bluster had been lies and this– this soft, careful  expression– was how she felt about him most of the time. She swung her shield to her back, then stabilized his thigh as if she clutched a porcelain vase. He didn’t think he could take the pity, or support, or whatever side of her this was.

“Figures you do the stupid shit and I pay the price. Seeker, there will never be anyone else like you.” He yanked the wyvern claw out of his thigh with a hiss. “If I’m very lucky.”

The Seeker scoffed in disgust, retreating from him as swiftly as she’d come to his side. Varric tried to rise, but his leg folded under the weight of him. “Then perhaps I should leave you to your luck, Varric.” 

She walked away from him, line of her shoulders tense with anger and frustration. Varric cursed himself a fool – neither the Seeker or Bianca were in reach if another wyvern attacked. He went to shout an apology, the words on the tip of his tongue, when the Seeker stopped dead in her tracks. A small shout rang out and the Inquisitor came into view, grabbing the warrior woman in a quick hug, Sparkler on her heels.

“Where’s Varric?” The Inquisitor asked.

Cassandra gestured behind her, not bothering to glance back. The Inquisitor and Sparkler rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. Sparkler wove some spell around his thigh to keep the swamp out and blood in, and Varric had the uncomfortable fortune of watching the back of the Seeker’s bowed head as they picked their way back to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting these babies! I hope you enjoy? And if you ever want to prompt something (nsfw encouraged even!) send me an ask on tumblr and I will do my best to fulfill our cassarric needs!


	2. It's not the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst prompt from thewindysideofcare on tumblr: “Didn’t it occur to you that you’re hurting me, too?!”
> 
> This one is so real, gahhh.

“Didn’t it occur to you that you’re hurting me, too?!” Cassandra slams a closed fist against the table for emphasis. The force of it tips a bottle, ink spilling over a disordered stack of papers.

“Shit.” Varric scrambles to clean up the mess with a rag, but the words are already lost. “Cassandra, you’ve decided it’s over. It’s a little beneath you to try and dictate when too.”

She gasps, rocking back on her heels. Cassandra had never made any declaration of the sort. Their last conversation was… fraught. Varric asked her to return to Kirkwall; the invitation was intended to be a permanent situation. At the time, a yes fluttered in her chest like a caught sparrow. Its wings beating against the cage only served to injure itself.

“You are ignoring me because I declined your invitation.”

“You’re damn right I am, Seeker.”

She crosses her arms. “And now it’s ‘Seeker.’”

He slides a hand over his face and leans back in his chair. It is lucky the hall is empty. Had this conversation occurred a week prior, Skyhold would have still been buzzing with nobles and well wishers. Now the fireplace only warms the two of them. The emptiness is distressing, as is the disappointment on Varric’s face. Had she another choice, she would take it now. The plea already burns in her heart. _I would go with you if I could,_ she thinks. _But how can I not do this?_

“Varric, if there is a chance to rebuild, I must take it. There are surely others who did not follow Lord Seeker Lucius. We can return the Seekers of Truth to their original purpose: to serve the Maker in protecting the innocent. Can’t you see how important this is to me? How important a force such as this could be? Especially as Leliana pushes progressive reforms on those who adhered to traditions until their very downfall.”

“And these Seekers are important than a Merchant dwarf from Kirkwall.”

She hesitates to answer, wanting to put the words right. No one is more important to her than him, but this, this is important too. It is clear by the dark shadow that crosses Varric’s face however, that the silence meant something else entirely to him. The scratch of chair legs against the stone floor is jarring. Varric stands, his warm, thick hands spread against the table. Cassandra loves those hands, which had held her not long ago. She can count backwards to the day, easily enough.

“Varric,” she warns. “You twist my meaning.”

“Do I, Seeker? Or do I understand your words better than you do?” He pushes away from the table just as he had pushed away from her. Varric stalks past Cassandra, walking straight to the door that lets out to the garden. Watching him walk away, before she can put this to right, it wounds her worse than any sword or spell.

“Why must I choose?” She shouts. Varric pauses, holding the door ajar. He does not look back, but she takes it as an opening. “I would not leave you forever, Varric. I love you. Does that not matter?”

He turns then, a pained frown across his face that seems to pull him down low. “Look, I tried the long distance, tortured lovers bit. It was miserable, snatching handfuls of time only for it to slip through our fingers like sand.” 

Cassandra can’t help but scoff. “That is entirely different. I would not be married to another man. Surely it is better to try than give up now.” She reaches across the void between them to wind her fingers with his. Varric lets her, but does not return her insistent squeeze.

“I don’t know, Cass. I wish I did, but I don’t.” He drops his hand and turns into the doorway, his entire profile cast in shadow. “I’m going back to Kirkwall in a few days. Let’s– I’ll talk to you before then okay?”

She responds, or thinks she may have. Her mind is all a blank as he disappears into the night. Cassandra doesn’t know what to do – especially has no idea what to say to convince him it will not be like with Bianca. Perhaps the Inquisitor will have a suggestion – the woman inspires even the commander to speak in passion. Cassandra marches dully to the Inquisitor’s quarters, closing her eyes against the sight of Varric’s empty table by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this, but at the same time, I think it is a likely scenario for these two. Does Varric really want another long distance relationship that drags his heart all over the coals? Could Cassandra give up all she's worked towards and for, for a man? 
> 
> What do you think?


	3. The dreams that keep you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interesting prompt from seaturtlesareawesome on tumblr! 
> 
> "The only good part about being alone is that I don't wake anyone up when I start screaming at night."

She runs through twisting corridors, searching in vain. Suddenly a cast of green light flows out into the hall before her. Cassandra sprints, freeing her sword and bursting into the room. A grotesque creature holds the divine up by a clawed hand, dangling her as if she was a piece of filth he longs to toss away. **  
**

“You will let her go!”

“And you seek to stop me? You are nothing.” His voice reverberates down to the depths of her soul, unsettling her. Cassandra tightens her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

They meet in the center of the room, Corypheus gliding on air as he clutches the divine. Cassandra swings, the line of silver cutting through the sickly green shade of the room. Inexplicably, her blade stops, inches from the creature’s side. She fights against the magic that holds her in place, until he casts her against the wall with a flick of his wrist. She falls, smacking her head. She is dizzy, a cloying taste in her mouth, but Cassandra must rise.

Before she can stand, he raises the orb, the flicker of green light intensifying. The divine screams, pained and pale in her suffering. Whatever her part, it is a gruesome one indeed. Cassandra jumps to her feet, again and again, but her legs won’t heed her command. A sudden crackle of energy is earsplitting, forcing her to throw her hands up, sword clattering to the ground. Corypheus shouts something to the void, and the veil tears open as it tears the divine apart before Cassandra’s eyes.

“No!” She shouts. Cassandra sits up, heart racing and head swimming. The blanket is coated in sweat, sticking to Cassandra as she shifts uneasily. It is the same nightmare as most nights after the fade; a repeating scenario of how she fails to save her, helpless and without control of her own body.

A rush of cold air fills the tent and Cassandra swivels, raises to fight with her bare hands if she has to.

“Seeker, it’s just me.” Varric enters, holding a candle.”Are you alright?”

Cassandra sinks back down to the bedroll, pulling her tunic past her knees.  

“I’m fine, Varric.”

“Whenever a woman says she’s fine, she really means the exact opposite.”

It is a teasing joke, but his face is serious, brows knitted in concern. Would it be so terrible to share this burden with another? Perhaps talking would help her sleep better. There have been far too many restless nights.

“I am having trouble sleeping,” she offers.

“You don’t say.” He smiles and enters fully, sitting cross-legged on the ground by her side. His presence is warm and welcoming. _When did that happen?_

“I–” She stalls, unsure of how to voice her fears without sounding so weak. Varric is a lot of things – dishonest when it suits him, a terrible outdoors-man, a prodding pest of a dwarf – but he is not without a strong backbone and sense of accountability.

“Seeker, when’s the last time you had someone to really talk with? And not about the Inquisition or our plans or how to swing a sword properly?” He sets the candle down and folds his hands in his lap, anticipating her response.

It is not a shocking question, but the quick burst of pain to her chest is sudden indeed. “I guess it would be since the conclave…” She twists the end of her tunic between her fingertips. “Not since the divine – and Leliana has retreated into herself so much.”

“You gotta let it out. Don’t let it fester inside until you can’t breathe. Maker’s ass, you’re not alone, Seeker.”

She scoffs, gesturing around the tent. “The only advantage in being alone is that I do not wake anyone when I start yelling at night.” Varric raises an eyebrow. “Usually,” she amends.

“That’s horse crap and you know it. Dwarves can’t dream, but I can tell already that whatever you were thinking about has you shook up like a bag of cats.” Cassandra frowns at the backwards expression. “Look, I’m not getting back to sleep knowing you’re in here torturing yourself over shit that’s probably not even your fault. Trust me, I’ve dealt with that a lot. I think I can help.”

“That is a kind offer Varric, but it is the middle of the night. We should probably try to rest.” His face falls for a brief moment, but he masks it quickly, nodding his head and grabbing the candle. “I will be fine tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

She hesitates again, unsure of what to say to this Varric. Cassandra must still be dreaming. His look of concern cuts through her inner turmoil in an unnerving fashion. Would it be so bad to sit with Varric in all sincerity, perhaps relieve some of her stress for once? She does not doubt he would be a good listener, despite how much he enjoys hearing himself speak. Hawke very much attests that Varric kept her sane most days back in Kirkwall. 

The thought of Kirkwall disturbs Cassandra. It is tied so strongly to the events of the conclave now that she shudders at the idea of bearing that dream another evening. He may not be able to help, but there is no harm in trying.

“I would like to take up your offer, Varric.”

He smiles broadly, then tucks his chin to his chest in an attempt to hide the pleasure at her words.

“Sleep tight, Seeker. I’ll be right next door. Shout if you need me.”

Cassandra groans at his choice of words and he disappears into the night. She sinks back, pulling the blanket under her chin. Once laying down again, she falls asleep easily, the adrenaline that coursed through her before has left her exhausted. Instead of darkspawn magisters and divines, she dreams of a smart ass dwarf and his warm, caring smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was implied nightmares, kind of had to write it from Cassandra's perspective. ;) 
> 
> This turned out somewhat hopeful, comfort fluff.


	4. Now you're speaking my language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Saphir (seatutlesareawesome) on Tumblr. 
> 
> _Cassandra speaks the common tongue and Orlesian very well. But she will also occasionally mutter insults, snarky remarks, etc. in Nevarran, under the presumption that no one understands her. But Varric does. He never says anything, though, because he figures it might be to his advantage. But one day Cassandra says something in Nevarran, and he unthinkingly answers her..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closest I could figure language-wise was if we’re comparing countries in Thedas to real life civilizations, then Nevarra’s kind of like Prussia. And Cass sounds German-ish to me, so I went there for the language (or, well, I tried!).
> 
> If any Germans want to correct me – improve my attempts, they would be welcome!

“Leck mich im Arsch!” **  
**

The words rolling off her tongue were as virulent as the waves assaulting the ship. The former was the cause of the latter, and Varric chuckled through his own bout of seasickness. To witness the Seeker, who was always so buttoned up, leering over the edge of the prow cursing at the water – well, it was almost worth the trip.

_No, scratch that. Nothing was worth leaving Kirkwall for._

It served her right to be miserable after having strung him up for information in Hawke’s mansion, of all places. She’d not cursed in Nevarran then. No, her complaints were supposed to be duly noted, the Seeker wanting to ensure her captive knew how much he was putting her out. It wouldn’t of mattered which language she spoke. Even though Varric had never been to Nevarra, he was in the Merchant’s Guild. The common tongue was common for a reason, but it was bad business to be unprepared for any…  _irregularities._

Varric’s Nevarran was as rusty as the chains hanging outside Kirkwall’s harbor, but still passable enough to know that the Seeker just told the sea to lick her in the ass.

 

* * *

She swore an exorbitant amount for a religious servant. As an official member of the Inquisition now, Varric was surrounded by Chantry folk: the Right and the Left, a shit ton of shiny, self-righteous templars, and a mage who’d apparently been saved by Andraste herself. [The Inquisitor wasn’t so bad, once you got past all the symbolism.] All of them though, couldn’t hold a candle to the Seeker’s tendency to mutter curses while fighting or training.

Really, they weren’t always swear words. Occasionally the woman made cutting observations about others, terrible remarks under her breath that weren’t suited for good company. Half the time Varric was surprised to hear it. He had to mangle each laugh, coming out instead as a forced choke/cough combination. She wasn’t catching on. Varric assumed that for the amount of time she spent tracking him with her eyes she’d get wise, but weeks went by without her recognizing what it meant whenever Varric suddenly had to cough.

 

* * *

He blew his cover in the dumbest way.

The Seeker was reading the latest issue of Swords & Shields in the open now that everyone knew she was into that cheesy romantic crap. She hunched over a table in the back of the Herald’s Rest, the candle beside her burning low. The stem of a wine glass was clutched lightly in one hand, the book pressed against the table with the other. She was going to break the binding like that.

Varric crept past her to order a drink, glancing behind him at the bar while he waited. He could only see the back of her head, and just barely the words over her shoulder. She was getting to a tense part. All of a sudden, the Seeker threw her hand up in disgust.

“Dummen Zwerg!”  

 _Klingt nicht wie danke zu mir_ , Varric thought. The Seeker swung around, raising her copy in the air as if ready to fling it in his face. Well, shit. He must of said it out loud.

“Thank you?!” She was incredulous, shaking the poor issue as if she could change the story by mixing up the letters by force. “The Knight Captain is a good woman and _you_ keep making her suffer!”

They’d had this discussion before; the Seeker wasn’t too fond of seeing her favorites go through any character-defining moments. He didn’t know what to say in response – did she even realize he spoke in Nevarran? Was she that impassioned about his plotting that she didn’t notice?

“Well, I think you’ll thank me in the long run, Seeker.”

She paused, then looked at the book sideways. “Will she see him again? Before the issue is over?”

“What would be the fun in knowing now? Don’t you want to be surprised?”

She groaned in disgust, then turned back to her spot after realizing that Varric wasn’t going to indulge her. The dark head bowed again, the line of her body curved possessively over the story. Varric tipped Cabot a little extra for his drink, and went to find someone willing to lose at Wicked Grace. Before he could get two steps away, she spoke again.

“Your accent is atrocious.” Varric flinched, ale sloshing over the edge of his tankard. He wasn’t sure whether to move forward, or backward, or to just stay in the same damn spot until she left. “Ich wusste es die ganze Zeit.”

So she’d known. He had to hand it to her at that – the Seeker wasn’t as oblivious as she seemed. Maybe that’s what made her so good at her job. Maybe. Varric wasn’t giving her full credit yet.

“But you kept doing it? Why?” He turned, too curious not to see her response. The Seeker watched him, frowning. Her fingers were tented in her lap like an evil mastermind.

“Maybe I hoped you would _actually_ choke one of those times.”

He laughed, then against his better judgement, dragged a stool with his free hand to her table. She smiled, a rare thing, and Varric was suddenly smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leck mich im Arsch: Lick me in the ass (kiss my ass!)  
> Dummen Zwerg: Stupid dwarf!  
> Klingt nicht wie danke zu mir: Doesn’t sound like thank you to me.  
> Ich wusste es die ganze Zeit: I knew it all along/the whole time.


	5. Hand warmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's cold out there. Everyone needs their own hand warmer.

Varric tugged off his coat, muttering at the snow that fell out of his collar. After shedding his boots one by one, the inside of the tent was coated in the stuff. Cassandra hid beneath the blanket, holding it taut as a shield against the flying white powder.

“Varric,” she laughed. “Are you attempting to make a snowman? Because you’ll soon have a snow woman if you don’t stop.”

“Ah, sorry Cass.” He lumbered over to where she hid in the cozy nest of blankets. “Are you getting cold?”

Varric crept behind her and thrust his hands under the covers in search of her waist, causing Cassandra to twist and squirm away. His icy fingers found her taught stomach and she shrieked, cursing his name. Curious hands travelled south in search of warmer climes and suddenly his lover was no longer struggling, but relaxing into his hold. The juncture of her thighs radiated heat. Cassandra leaned back against his chest as he slid his hands under her small clothes. Skirting the spot she wanted most touched seemed to rouse her desire. Varric left one hand over her abdomen, fingers curling in her thatch of dark hair, and traced the edge of her soft, silky cunt with another. Breathing heavily, Cassandra grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand. He chuckled against her shoulder.

“Thanks for warming me up,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*¯ ³¯*)♡


	6. Bookmarked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Mytha, but over on Tumblr. Prompt: Someone straddling the other while they’re “trying to read” and slowly getting them to put the book away.

Cassandra reclined on the day lounge in Varric’s office, reading his latest issue of Swords & Shields for what amounted to possibly the tenth time in as many days. The Knight Captain was holding the traitor hostage, and though Cassandra knew exactly how it would end (the man would somehow, frustratingly, get away), she still bit her lip and flew through the words as if it was the first time. She could sense Varric looming close, bobbing in and out of sight in the corner of her eye.

“You’ve read that issue more times than my editor.” Varric’s voice was an annoyance – Cassandra batted him away with a hand without peeling her eyes from the text.

“If you didn’t have such obvious poor taste, maybe I’d pay you to look at this shit first instead. Andraste’s bleeding ass, no one else is buying it. I should just stop publishing it altogether – probably save some coin. And my reputation.”

Varric’s hands began to slide down Cassandra’s bare legs, starting at her bent knees and caressing down to inner thighs. She batted him away again, one hand balancing the open book, the other swatting ink-stained fingers from the line of her tunic –  _his tunic_.

“You are supposed to be writing,” she accused.

“I was,” Varric said. “Up until I started thinking about fucking you.”

She peeked up from the paragraph she was on, mildly intrigued. “Oh?” His brown eyes were blown wide, a hopeful grin was plastered on his face. Varric pressed up against her bent legs, arousal fully evident. “You  _have_  been thinking a lot.” He gripped her knees and rocked into her.

“Open up, Cass, you’re not even on the good part.”

“How can you tell?” She let the book fall shut in her lap, thumb still trapped between the pages.  

“Oh, you get this red flush from here,” he trailed a finger over her collarbone, “up to here.” His hand caressed her cheek. “Hey there it is.” Cassandra felt the flush rise up in just the pattern he described.

Varric smiled so wide she wanted to smack him and kiss him both. It was a feeling she was intimately familiar with. As he brushed her cheek with a thumb, softly caressing over the long scar that marred her face, she gave in to her sentimental nature. Cassandra dropped the book, page marking long forgotten, and snapped open her knees to let him in.

Real life was far better than fiction.


	7. Making a few truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested again, by Mytha over on Tumblr: The pleasant misuse of ties.  
> Whooeee, you keep me alive.
> 
> Consulting detective AU (because why would Varric otherwise wear a tie!)

It was far past the time Detective Pentaghast usually stayed at the bar beneath his apartment, and the longest time he’d sat with her outside of a case. The drinks piled up at their table, nut shells strewn among the empty beer bottles, brown and green glass reflecting the low light from the fixtures above and casting waves on the wood top. Peeled label strips curled in loose curlicues littered the detective’s spot. Across from her, Captain Aveline sat down an empty bottle hard, crunching a peanut shell with the base. She twisted the bottle, grinding it down further into the wood.  

“Well, I’m headed out,” she said. Aveline glared at Varric, as if challenging him to step out of line. He’d be crushed under her heel, just like his bar nuts. Varric loosened the tie around his neck. It felt awfully tight.

“See ya, Red.”

She narrowed her eyes further. “No. That doesn’t work for me.”

He shrugged. “I’ll keep trying.”

“You do that.” She turned to her detective and former partner, dismissing Varric entirely. “Do you need a ride, Petaghast? You’re on my way.”

Cassandra stopped peeling the label she was currently working on and considered her boss’ offer. Her beer was still half full. She looked to Varric quickly, as if hesitant to let on. Aveline didn’t miss it though, and already began to stand, pulling her jacket from the back of her seat.

“Look, I’m not your mother, Pentaghast. Just do me a favor and don’t drive out of here.”

The detective nodded, still peeling the label. It wasn’t a clean rip – layers of paper still stuck to the glass – so she started chipping at it with a nail.

Aveline continued. “I know this was a hard one. Not every case ends well – I don’t have to tell you that. The best thing you can do is mourn well tonight and then let it go in the morning.”

“I –” Cassandra stopped. She placed her hands on the table, flat, scattering the debris from hours of drinking. “I know. Thank you, captain.” The two women shared some kind of look; an exchange that was far more than just casual goodbye. If Varric had to guess – which, why wouldn’t he – Aveline and the detective were signaling something about him. Maybe he was too many drinks in and reading it plain wrong, but the soft concern on the captain’s face was misplaced for her. He’d bet his left nut they’d been discussing him before he’d arrived.  

Varric wasn’t interested in their undercurrents. Too much shit can go wrong when things go unsaid. He knew that better than most. Not only with his ex Bianca, but miscommunication was one of the easiest tropes to play with in the writer’s toolkit. He wanted the detective and he was planning on telling her. As soon as Aveline left. Now, if he could only get her stubborn, protective ass out the door.

“I’ll make sure the detective gets to where she needs to go,” he said. Both women snapped to him, one judging, the other a bit hopeful. Aveline looked like she was going to retort with a smart ass comment, but held her tongue. Everyone here was an adult.

“Well – night, Pentaghast. Varric.” She pulled one last squinty-eyed glare for Varric, then clapped her detective on the shoulder. As she walked off, jacket in one hand, cell phone already pulled out in the other, more than a few patrons watched with interest. Anyone willing to try her in the alleyway was up for a rude surprise.  

He and the detective shared an uneasy glance; her fingers went back to futzing with the damn bottle.

“You got something against paper?”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“You better tell me now because you’re not going to like it upstairs if you do.”

It took a moment to sink in, both that he was referring to her odd habit and that he’d invited her up to his apartment. The detective was stuck for a moment, as if actually frozen, unsure whether to smile or groan at his comment. Lucky for him, she smiled.

“I have nothing against paper. It – I need something to do with my hands. Shooting my gun isn’t an option.”

“I’ve heard people do that when they’re sexually frustrated.”

She gave him a dismissive groan and an exaggerated eye roll. “Ugh. They say that when a woman chews ice or crosses her legs repeatedly. We’re either bored or distracted. You are the ones with… issues of that nature.”

He raised his hands. “I’m not disagreeing that we don’t.”

“And are you now?” She arched a brow and actually leaned towards him. Her knee was so close he could practically feel the heat off of her. He wanted to absorb that heat so badly, to crank it up even higher as she let go of her frustrations and loosened beneath him. Or on top of him. He wasn’t picky.

“I won’t be soon.” Her eyes went wide – halla-in-headlights wide.

“That’s a bold statement, Varric. Are you sure that is what you’d like on the record?”

He closed the distance between them, placing his hand on her knee and moving the bottle out of her grip completely. “If you’re not into this, fine. Let me know and I’ll go take care of my own frustrations.” She said nothing, but pursed her lips a little. “If somehow I’ve not been misreading this like an idiot, then I think we stop thinking about this shit case and think about ourselves for once.”

He figured she’d hem and haw over this for a while, chewing her lip and deciding how to best dismember him without even breaking a sweat. The detective wasn’t entirely predictable though, something he often took for granted. He’d been spending most of his adult life analyzing characters and people just the same. When someone actually surprised him, they did it with full force.

The detective kissed him. Not a soft peck on the lips or a brush on the cheek; Cassandra Pentaghast pulled him in close by his stupid fucking tie – mandated by the captain of course – and crashed into his mouth. Her kiss was as fierce as he’d ever imagined it to be: lips soft but strong, tongue direct and used with purpose. Varric’s hand shot straight up her leg, smoothing over her trousers to feel the tight muscle beneath. She gripped his hand, not to push it away, but redirect to her ass. He complied ever so happily, pulling her in even closer until her knee was planted between his legs. The detective continued to lead their kiss, fingers wrapping into his hair with one hand, the other loosening his tie.

She broke away.

“Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Andraste’s sweet tits he wanted to go at that; shoot off like a rocket and throw her over his shoulder like a caveman. Deep down though, Varric didn’t want her regrets. He had to make sure this was what she wanted, not only now, with a bit of drunk haze, but in the morning too.  

“Detective, when I said we should think about ourselves I didn’t just mean a one-time thing. If you still haven’t decided after that kiss, that fucking amazing kiss, then I’ll get a cab for you right now.”

“Varric,” she said, eyes molten brown. “I want this. I have never wanted anything more.”

“Scouts honor?”

“I’m a detective, I never lie. I’m practically a seeker of truth.”

She raised her hand and placed the other over his obvious erection. As if making a pledge. Maker’s balls, he wanted this woman.

“Well, seeker. Let’s see what truths we can find together, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I'd dig a part two, where that tie gets a bit more use. How about you?
> 
> Also, can't resist an Aveline cameo.


	8. Sush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by kailenawolf on Tumblr: Kissing to keep quiet (yeah, they don't stay that way)

They couldn’t sit still any longer. The sun had set hours ago, but only minutes had passed since the the rest of the party retired from the campfire, the Inquisitor and Vivienne falling into silence and settling in their tent. Cassandra and Varric crept slowly off their bedrolls, glad for the cover of darkness, but cautious to make no noise. In the beginning, sharing a tent allowed the Seeker to keep an eye on her charge, but now Cassandra was thankful for the precedent. For so long the two had paired off at night that no one remarked upon it. Even though no one else knew their secret, it was of utmost importance they kept it so.

Cassandra slipped on her boots as deftly as possible. The rumblings of Varric getting situated behind her were ludicrously loud, though in her paranoid state even her own breathing seemed like thunderclaps. She wanted to hush him, but the possibility of giving them away wasn’t worth the satisfaction of hissing between her teeth. Instead, Cassandra slipped out of the canvas tent as sneakily as she could, tiptoeing carefully over the stone floor of the ruined temple. The scout on watch had her back toward the tents, looking down the slope at the thick forest. The dark-haired elf stood stock-still in one of the arched remains, oblivious to Cassandra sneaking away. Cassandra thanked Andraste for for small blessings, following the line of the cliff wall and darting behind the resting wolf statue that guarded their camp. Varric would be proud of her stealth, a silent threat at last without her armor.

The forest floor was covered in leaves and twigs and plenty of opportunities to make a sound. Cassandra tried her best to tread lightly, stumbling up against a few large rocks and roots before her eyes adjusted to the dark. Moonlight dappled the ground through the breaks in the trees and soon enough she found the spot they’d agreed upon earlier. She waited there in the shelter of an enormous root that erupted from the ground in a great arc, half of it buried against a grassy slope. The space beneath was large enough to comfortably fit Cassandra seated, legs crossed beneath her. Whatever the root had grown over had long since rotted away. The small cavern it provided was perfect for a tryst.

Varric was coming; she was sure of that. The fact didn’t stop her from feeling quite silly waiting in the dark in the middle of the Emerald Graves. Before she could consider getting up and begin searching for him, a pair of scuffed boots and thick dwarven legs blocked her already obfuscated view into the clearing.

Varric crouched. “Aren’t you a beautiful sight.”

She shushed him, then whispered. “It is dark. You can barely see.”

“No,  _you_  can barely see,” he said. “My eyes are just fine. I’ve finally found a dwarven perk.”

He was so loud. Cassandra tried shushing him, but he ignored her. Varric began to speak again, but Cassandra yanked him close, kissing him in order to keep him silent. He reciprocated, tongue invading her mouth while he pushed her back against the cavern wall. Cassandra dropped her hands from his tunic in order to scoot on her palms. Varric crowded her, untucking her shirt from her trousers as he pressed in. He kissed her hotly, roughly, biting her lower lip and eliciting a loud moan that sprang from deep within her chest.

“Hey, I thought we were being quiet,” he teased. Cassandra grabbed his shoulders in response and rolled over him, pushing him down to the soft grass floor, straddling his legs as she sat on top.

“I don’t wish to be caught out,” she admitted, staring down at him.

“Ah, Cass. We’re out here so you can make all the noise you want. I promise, no one’s gunna hear you.”

It was easy to see his grin in the dim, moonlit space. Cassandra wanted to kiss it. Varric’s hands ran up and down her arms. The warmth of his touch was both calming and invigorating; Cassandra’s heart pounded in her chest, the steady beat felt clearly between her thighs as well. He had a point. They were far from camp. What was the point in sneaking off if they couldn’t enjoy it?

Cassandra bent forward and cupped his jaw, pouring all of her desire into a searing kiss, tongues dancing delicately, breaths shared gratefully. All the secrecy, the careful planning and patience was paying off. They were finally together after days of traveling.

Varric guided her shirt over her back. She raised her arms and let him pull up as far as he could before she finished the process herself, crumpling the fabric into a ball and tossing it to the corner. She dove back to his mouth and rough palms raced up over her bare back, tracing her spine. Cassandra moved her hips, rutting into him hastily. He chuckled, saying something smart about ‘eagerness’ until she grabbed him where she’d been pressing. Varric groaned, dropping his head back completely as she weaseled open his stays with one hand.

Cassandra scooted backwards on her knees, peeling off his breeches as she went. Varric spoke incoherently, praising and begging all together in a rush of syllables. It was her turn to chuckle.

“It seems I am not the only eager one, Varric.” She took him in hand again, palm wrapped around the firm width of him. Giving his cock a few strokes, she dipped her head forward, mouth slightly open. She was close enough to touch with the dart of her tongue. Varric breathed heavy, hands creeping to grab onto her. She flicked her tongue, licking the tip of his cock. Hips shifted beneath her and Cassandra stilled him with her free hand.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

“Yea, Seeker. Whatever you want just–”

She took him in her mouth and Varric fell blessedly silent. She needed no instruction. Cassandra swirled her tongue around his girth, one hand gripped the base as she cherished the hot flesh. The first time she’d taken the position she’d grimaced, unclear how it could be anything other than degrading, but his utter abandon and heated moans had done absolutely wonderful things to her: gut clenching, fire in her veins. Cassandra squirmed, eager to take him elsewhere. She throbbed, a pulse of desire he had to have felt. Varric’s fingers threaded in her hair, knocking her braid free. It brushed her chest, tickling overly sensitive skin. She bobbed, twisting her palm around him as she sucked up and down his shaft.

She only wanted for more light. To see his eyes turn molten brown, watch them squeeze shut, overwhelmed by sensation. A few ragged breaths stuttered out as she grazed her teeth gently against him.

“Fuck. Get up here,” he begged.

Varric pulled at her shoulders, beneath her arms, as she moved forward. Their lips met again, pent-up passion flowing freely, hotly. Her hips snapped down, trapping his cock against her wetness. Her desire surged when his tongue chased her own. She wiggled against him, enticing him to move, to thrust inside her. After a few torturous passes he did, lifting and slipping inside in rapid succession, thrusting hard enough to make her gasp.

“Varric!” She laughed in surprise.

His hands locked on her sides, thumbs pressed into hipbones. He nipped her breast and she swore, pushing her palms flat against his broad chest. Her powerful legs engaged in warfare, dropping down and rising up again to tease him. The press of his thumbs was almost painful, and the hiss escaping between his teeth seemed it too. The slick, intoxicating glide served to ramp them both further up. Cassandra dug her fingertips into his skin, pushing aside the ‘v’ of his open tunic as she lowered herself down and up, again and again.

“Truce,” he said, prying up her fingers after the nails bit into his skin. “Rock into me, I want to feel you come.”

Heat flushed through her, suffused her chest and cheeks. Cassandra’s ears grew hot, and were no doubt red.  After all the times they’d made love, his words should have seemed normal, but they shocked her each time. She could never come up with something so… vulgar. At least not say it out loud.

“I’m making you blush, aren’t I?” He swept a knuckle against her cheek. She knocked it away.

“I thought dwarves could see in the dark?”

“It’s not like I can pull colors out of the dark. What I can see though…” He cupped her breasts, rolled her nipples with the calloused pad of his thumb. She arched into his touch.

“Come on,” he urged. “Ride me until you’re screaming, Seeker.”

“Varric,” she said, shocked again. Embarrassed again.

“What? You love it when I talk like this. That’s why I agreed to plod through the fucking woods after you. I would have been fine staying in the clean, dry tent instead of twigs poking my ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “You poor man.”

He offered no retort and Cassandra rewarded the good behavior with movement. She rode him, the press of their bodies rubbing against her swollen flesh. He grabbed her ass, helping her rock forward. Cassandra’s breath came faster as she felt the intangible flicker of pleasure begin to build. She dipped her forehead to his, braid falling between them, and closed her eyes in order to concentrate, solely on sensation. His hard cock inside of her, the tight squeeze, the fullness and slickness between her legs, the sound of sex. She whimpered, pleasure climbing to an impossible precipice. The fall would be great.

Varric grunted, swearing under his uneven breath. He tweaked a nipple and she keened, the dual sensations above and below meeting in her core and sparking a wildfire that rampaged through her body. It was so exquisite.

“I’m coming,” she shouted. Birds flew out of trees, hallas fled the scene. 

“Ah, sweet fuck, Cass.” He surged into her, coming at the same time, cock pulsing. Cassandra kissed him again, stealing his dirty curses before they could pop out and ruin the moment. He clutched her against his chest.

They laid together for a few moments after, in complete and total silence. The sounds of the woods surrounded them, wind rustling through leaves, night creatures creeping unseen, returning to their homes. Cassandra whispered against his neck, enjoying the privacy and intimacy their little cave provided.

“Should we – again? It may be some time before we can get away.”

She could feel Varric’s grin. “Nah, Seeker. Not here. My back’s killing me.”

Cassandra pursed her lips, about to protest, when he put a finger to them. “I’d rather take you back and do it all over again in camp. On a bedroll. Except then you’ll really have to try to keep both of us quiet.”

She shivered and her insides squirmed at the idea. It would be almost impossible, an insurmountable challenge, but she never backed down from those before. Maybe a little risk was worth it. They’d come this far without anyone knowing after all.

“I think I’d like that, Varric. More than I should admit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves have excellent night vision, right? Those cheeky little bastards live underground. They have to have great eyesight in the dark.
> 
> I think this is my first posted blow job? Sorry lads. Eh, hope it was alright. I'm never confident in conveying that odd line of degradation, pleasure and satisfaction at giving a good beej. Probably because I still call it a beej...


End file.
